


Catatonia

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Catatonia, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid is found sitting at his desk in a catatonic state after being sexual assaulted. His team scrambles to find his assailant, but are faced with being the friend of a victim in a way none had faced before as Reid exists in a state of undeath. ALL THE FEELS. NOT A HAPPY FIC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catatonia

Hotch walked into the BAU office and flicked on the lights. He was always the first in each morning, dropping a tired Jack off at Jessica’s so she could get him on the bus each morning. This morning, he turned to face the normally empty office and was immediately struck by the sight of Reid sitting slouched down at his desk. Alarmed that he’d been sleeping in the dark, and positive that he’d left the office the night before, Hotch headed over to him.

“Reid?”

No response.

“Reid, what…” Hotch’s voice caught in his throat. Reid’s face was swollen, bruises and blood sullying his normally handsome figure. Now that Hotch was closer he could see that blood also stained his tangled hair.

Hotch pulled out his gun and quickly moved about to clear the rooms, pulling out his cell phone to call their situation in. There were other FBI agents in the building already and he quickly found them slipping in, their gear distinguishing them from an enemy threat. His offices are cleared and then one remains while the rest go to secure the building. He hears about others having arrived at that point, but he’s too caught up on dealing with Reid. Reid is conscious, but unresponsive. His eyes track movement in his line of sight and he makes eye contact, but even asking him to blink a yes or no yields no results. Hotch waits until the ambulance is cleared to enter and watches as they strap him in. At that point Garcia and the rest of his team enter the room.

“Hotch, what’s going on?” Morgan asked, “We had to be _cleared_ to enter the… oh my gods, Spencer!”

“Try to talk to him,” Hotch insisted, motioning Morgan forward.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Morgan spoke softly, kneeling over him while the medics paused in their exam. They’d also been unable to elicit a response from Reid, “Talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you?”

Reid just stared at him so Garcia shoved him aside, “Hey Junior G-Man blink twice if you… just blink twice.”

Reid blinked once, and it wasn’t overly defined. JJ carefully moved in, “Spence? Sweetie, give us a sign. Anything.”

Nothing.

The medics took Reid away and Hotch went with them after assuring the team he was as out of the loop as they were. Morgan spoke to Strauss and the director and got an investigation started, first and formost having Garcia check the camera feed. They saw Reid enter the FBI installation around 3:00 AM, limping slightly but with his face a studious blank. They mostly lost detailed image when he walked into the darkened offices since only the emergency lights were on, but he could still be seen walking towards his chair and sitting down. He put his messenger bag on the floor and just… sat there for hours.

“We search his bag?” Morgan asked.

“Just books,” Prentiss replied, “And a notepad with nothing written on it, a few pens, coloured markers, a deck of cards. His usual supply stack.”

“Where’s his phone?” Morgan asked.

“I didn’t see it,” Rossi replied.

“His gun?” Morgan queried.

“Hotch secured it,” Garcia replied, rewinding to the bit on the screen, “He had it on his hip.”

“So he was armed,” Morgan replied, “Get it to ballistics. I want to know if it was fired, when, and how often. Get it dusted for prints first.”

Prentiss took off to take care of that while JJ and Morgan headed to Reid’s apartment to try and retrace his steps before he got to the FBI building. Rossi stayed behind to help Garcia and search the area for more information as the built a profile and discuss the situation with their fellow FBI agents.

Morgan and JJ let themselves into Reid’s apartment with his keys, having recovered them from his messenger bag. What they saw made them feel sick to their stomachs. The main living room was torn apart, clearly remnants of a struggle. Reid’s apartment was an efficiency and every available wall had books on it, but almost none of them were Reid’s. They seemed to all be library books or loans from the local college. Since Reid could read dozens of books a day and retain the memory instantly there was really no need for him to have more than one bookshelf full of precious books that were clearly kept more out of love than the need to re-read them. They were lovingly dusted, but the shelf still had markings on it that showed where several had been removed.

“Reid’s mentioned having first editions,” Morgan noted, “But none of them are here. It looks like they were stolen.”

Prentiss joined them then, her eyes glancing over everything, “Oh gods.”

Morgan brought her up to speed, none of them looking at the bed just yet.

“This doesn’t… _feel_ like it’s motivated by greed,” Prentiss frowned, “It feels personal.”

“No,” Morgan stated, “The primary goal was clearly restraining Reid and getting him to the bed. The books feel more like an extra way to violate him.”

Prentiss and JJ both shuddered, and with that statement made they _had_ to look at his bed. It was rumpled, though not with sleep. Reid’s cuffs had been used, but he must have either gotten free or been released. His clothes from the day before made a trail from the couch to the bed, buttons torn and a pocket ripped clear off. A shirt had been used to restrain his legs. Blood and semen stained the sheets. They couldn’t collect evidence themselves so they surveyed the situation without disturbing anything and then waived in the CSI team. They stepped out to study the most alarming information besides his evident rape.

Reid’s door had six different locks on it, some internal only. Scuffmarks on the floor indicated he’d been blocking it with a nearby chair. His windows were all nailed shut without screens, and he had an emergency concussion hammer by each one.

“So what are we thinking here?” Morgan asked, “Reid’s never shown a sign of being paranoid, despite the hints of schizophrenia I’ve noticed, but I don’t think he’d be fending off a stalker without bringing us in on it.”

“After Foyet maybe this was his way of coping with Hotch being hurt,” JJ suggested, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Hey,” Morgan gave her shoulder a squeeze, “We’ll catch him.”

“Yeah, but what about _Spence_? We’re always so focused on catching the bad guy, but this time the victim is _Spencer._ How will we help him get through this? _”_

“We’ll do anything we have to. Hold his hand, kick his ass, whatever it takes,” Morgan assured her.

They headed to the hospital to see what they could do there and eventually Rossi and Garcia joined them.

XXX

“We’ve got his emergency contact listed as Aaron Hotchner, do you know who that is?” A nurse asked, staring down at the tablet in her hand, “The same person is listed as a durable power of attorney, but we’re missing some important information. The phone number seems out of date and…”

“That’s me,” Hotch replied in surprise, “I’m his boss, I guess he figured if something happened I’d be there.”

“Well, he was right,” She smiled at him softly, accepting his ID and nodding, “Mr. Hotchner, do you know Spencer’s medical history? Or anyone who could answer our questions?”

“I know a good deal of it, and what I don’t know I _might_ be able to find out from his mother, but she’s not well off herself. Frankly you’re better off getting his records.”

“We have those,” She replied, glancing down at the tablet again, “Do you happen to know if Spencer has ever been treated for schizophrenia?”

“I know it runs in his family,” Hotch replied.

“I think that answers my question,” The nurse smiled and turned away, hurrying out of the room.

They were lying in the emergency room waiting for Reid to be admitted to another area of the hospital, but so far it was a toss up as to where he was going. They were probably leaning towards psychiatric at this point judging by the nurses words. Hotch had sat beside Reid, talking to him calmly about whatever popped into his head as the doctors undressed him, examined him, stuffed him into a gown, put him through a few machines, and performed a rape kit on him. He never reacted to anything around him except to follow faces that came into his visual range. He could be placed in different positions but his body slightly resisted the manipulation. At one point he’d gripped and relaxed his hand a few times and then stilled. Hotch had pointed it out but everyone had just smiled at him and nodded.

The doctor stepped in and Hotch stood up, ready to demand his right to information as Reid’s agent. He didn’t have to. The doctor- a psychiatrist- started discussing him immediately, and the longer he talked the more helpless Hotch felt. He was starting to wish Reid hadn’t made him his medical proxy.

“So… he’s going to be like this for how long?” Hotch asked.

“It’s hard to say,” The doctor stated, “There are cases of people being like this anywhere from hours to years. Sometimes they’ll come around and part of them will still be incapacitated. It’s a difficult situation.”

“If it’s related to schizophrenia can’t you medicate him to get him out of it?” Hotch asked.

“Actually some anti-psychotics have exacerbated the situation. Without him capable of telling us what kinds of symptoms he’s having I’m hesitant to start him on something he’s never taken before. From what I see here he’s never been treated for psychiatric issues that weren’t work related. Unless there’s something I’m unaware of?”

“It all has to go through the bureau due to confidentiality issues,” Hotch nodded, “The closest he’s gotten to outside treatment was a narc anon group. We monitored his meetings without him knowing.”

“His mother… Diana…” The doctor glanced at his tablet, “She’s in a long term care facility?”

“For schizophrenia,” Hotch nodded, “She can be cleared for travel if you think her talking to him would help.”

The doctor replied, “We’ve had some luck with ECT, but that’s usually only used in cases far worse than Dr. Reid’s.”

“There’s a _worse_ than this?”

“There are manic types of catatonia in which they repeat the same pointless actions until they exhaust themselves. It had been known to kill before proper treatment was developed. Then there’s the sort where the person can’t even be moved. He’s what we call ‘waxy flexibility’. He can be moved into new positions, even stood upright if necessary. This leaves us with a lot more treatment options that are non-invasive since his body isn’t being destroyed by complete immobility.”

“So what do we do?”

“We’re going to give him a round of benzos. If he doesn’t come out of it in an hour I’m going to request a consult. We can then very carefully try alternatives. Shock therapy would be the fastest after BZD, but personally I prefer to make them comfortable and provide stimuli and therapy in the hopes of bringing them out of this. Frankly, since schizophrenia is a diagnosed condition in his family we’re probably looking at him either shaking himself out of it or requiring extensive treatment of anti-psychotics even if I don’t prefer them with a previously untreated patient.”

Hotch’s head was spinning, “So… an hour?”

“Would you like to stay with him? I will warn you that the occasional movement means virtually nothing at this point. Neither does repeating the same phrase or repeating things you say to him.”

“He’s done none of that,” Hotch replied.

“Well, that’s good. It’s often harder on family and friends.”

“So is this… brain dead?” Hotch asked anxiously as the doctor began to administer the medication via IV.

“No,” He replied, “He still has a fair amount of brain activity and there’s no sign of trauma to his brain despite the gash on his head. He’s locked inside himself.”

Hotch sat down on the chair beside Reid’s bed, turned his head carefully so Reid could face him, and stared into his eyes while waiting out the hour. He didn’t touch him. He knew Reid wasn’t fond of lots of physical contact. He’d only held his hand earlier because strangers had been touching him. How he simply waited.

That was how the rest of the team found him when they joined him, and upon being filled in they all joined him in his vigil. When the doctor came in Hotch had thought it out and was ready with his decision.

“I want him out of this,” Hotch stated, “This is the worst possible fate for an intellect like Reid. Do whatever you can to wake him up.”

Reid had shut his eyes and seemed to be sleeping by that point, his respiration so low that it had alarmed Hotch at first. They discussed their options, got a consult, and decided on trying ECT first. Reid was gently prompted to open his eyes and then told what was going to happen by Hotch. He showed no emotions. They wheeled him off and Hotch spent the next hour worrying that he hadn’t made the right decision.

When Reid was wheeled back into the room they carefully menuevered him back into bed, his legs remaining rigidly in the position of a person sitting until they pressed them down.

“No change?” Hotch worried, “There’s no change?”

“We can try another round,” The doctor stated, “In a few days.”

They found Reid’s rapist by going through his mail. It was so simple and yet so repulsive. He was a young man who had gone to MIT with Reid had developed a crush on him. They’d been penpals for years but the man had been ashamed of his interest in someone underage. He finally confessed to Reid that he wanted to meet him and take him out on a date. Reid agreed. They tracked his credit cards to show that the man took Reid to dinner and a movie that night before they’d apparently headed back to the room. The profile took over from there. Reid had invited him in, but not for sex. Most likely he’d shown him the first editions, but when the man realized Reid wasn’t about to put out he’d turned violent. He’d taken the first editions as a way of putting them off the trail and he still had them when they finally tracked him down. After the man left Reid’s apartment the young genius, in a state of shock, had dressed for work and headed in. He was probably going to them for help or perhaps just acting out his routine, but the end result had been him sitting down and drifting into a catatonic state.

The entire team showed up to tell Reid that his rapist had been put away, with extra time added on for the state he’d left Reid in. They had all felt deep down inside that this would be what brought Reid out, but after an hour and a half of awkward conversation amongst themselves they all left downhearted and feeling as if they’d still failed him somehow.

Months passed. Reid was transferred to a long-term care facility. His mother visited and wept with her head on his chest. A nurse who adored her had volunteered to be her escort, and she shed a few tears as well. Hotch stood in the corner and watched Reid’s face. His eyes tracked them but showed no understanding.

By the time they hit the one-year mark they had exhausted anti-psychotic medications that were safe enough to try on a patient in a catatonic state. The doctors were starting to talk about finding him another situation. They asked Hotch if he could live at his home with a nurse checking up on him three times a week. Hotch didn’t have the kind of environment that would allow that so he told them it wasn’t possible. He was moved to a ward filled with comatose patients and one other catatonic man. They sat by each other and a nurse moved them once an hour to avoid bedsores and arthritis of the joints. Medicine and nutrients were pumped into them and Reid went from thin to skeletal. The doctors discussed his chances of waking up as if they were inconceivable. They told him that even if Reid came out of his stupor at this point he would be heavily physically damaged. He would require lengthy physical therapy to regain muscle mass and limber up his joints.

Hotch and JJ still visited once in a while but Morgan had found the situation too stifling and Garcia was never a hospital person. Hotch visited weekly with Jack in tow and JJ went with them at increasingly long intervals. Finally he realized he was the only one visiting, especially after Prentiss moved on to another department. Hotch had it out verbally with a nurse who was refusing to play the many books on tape that Hotchner brought in for Reid every week. She found it tedious to keep his iPod charged for him.

“Don’t you understand? He’s not a coma patient! He’s still _alive_ in there, his brain is still working, he’s _trapped_ and these books are the only thing keeping him sane! If we don’t play them he’s going to _rot_ inside! _Doctor_ Spencer Reid is a genius! He can read over 20,000 words per minute! He speaks numerous languages! Books are his _life!_ ” Hotch shouted while Jack stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.

She told him to leave. A doctor backed her up on the part about him leaving and Hotch was waved over to a security guard. By the time he got home he realized it was _he_ who felt trapped. Reid had been in this state for _years_. Jack was a teenager now and half the time their visits were just excuses for Hotch to have a silent place to help Jack with his homework away from distractions. They did play television for the residents but he simply turned it off for the duration of their visit as many other visitors did, preferring to spend his time bouncing unanswered questions off of Reid, usually in relation to Jack’s homework or the occasional case.

“Jack,” Hotch asked, “Do you like visiting Spencer at the hospital?”

“I guess,” Jack shrugged.

“Do you remember him? Before he was like this?”

“Yeah,” Jack shrugged again.

“What do you remember about him?”

“He was kind of annoying.”

Hotch drove on in silence. He returned the next time he was free from a case, this time without Jack, and discussed the iPod further with the doctors there. They agreed it was good for him and they’d continue to play them. Hotch left a second iPod so they could rotate them rather than having to charge one so often. Then Hotch did something he knew he should have done a long, long time ago. He signed away his rights as Reid’s medical proxy to the state.

Hotch pressed a firm kiss to Reid’s forehead and promised to continue to visit him and bring books. Then he walked out the door, sat in his car, and let himself mourn the loss of his friend and subordinate for the first time in years.

A/N This is the sad as fuck version. I will be writing the one with a happy ending shortly. It will be named “Stay With Me” and will be a Hotch/Reid fic.


End file.
